


Bleed Like Me

by LonelySail



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: ADHD Roman, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst, Anxiety, Autistic Logan, Depression, Eating Disorders, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Multi, Platonic LAMP - Freeform, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Romance, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Trans Roman, oh my god they were room mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-06-19 15:04:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15512448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonelySail/pseuds/LonelySail
Summary: Everybody has their strengths and weaknesses, their positivity and negativity. Most people tend to show their better aspects to other individuals to either make themselves happy or others happy.These four boys tend to internalize their pain like most people do, all save for Virgil on common occurrence.





	1. Introduction

The four had met in college (what drew them closer together is still a mystery) and continued to stay connected until they all had a nice house to live in. Though their personalities differed, They all had jobs that paid. They had a roof over their head, food in their kitchen, clothes on their bodies, and even had friends to stay with them under the same roof.

These reasons, privileges over half of the world's population don't have, are why people tend to overlook their own personal emotions and past. Because who cares if you're sad, you have a place to call home. Who cares about how scared you get over barely anything, people fear they'll die everyday in some countries. Who care if you get called names, some people get killed for being a minority. Who cares if you hate your body, some people don't have food on their plates at all.

Outsiders looking in on people can be so wrong with their judgement, appearance is always seen first and nobody seems to focus on a person's background. 

Virgil Dunn (Can only be called 'Verge' or just 'Virgil'. Hates his name.) wears his story on his sleeve, choosing to present himself to show the world that he isn't okay inside, which is really fucking edgy and sometimes people don't take it seriously. His past is his to share, but he has a taste for dark themes and anything categorized as negative. 

Patton Jaime, however, is commonly seen as overjoyed and affectionate, radiating positivity everywhere he goes. His friends consider him "The Dad Friend" for how he aggressively protects and supports them all. To those who know him well, this energy he gives off is a coping mechanism for a past Patton does not like to talk about to keep the focus off himself.

Logan Sanders has lived his whole life considered strange, even by his parents until he was diagnosed with Asperger's. His teachers always said he was smart, classmates said he was either weird or a prick, and his other friends consider him the voice of reason in their group. His obsession with order and routine annoys the others, but they love him all the same.

Lastly, Roman King, the most eccentric and (seemingly) narcissistic man of the group. His ideas are everywhere, he loves to express himself, and shows the most desire to indulge in cartoons than even Patton. He considers his past to be tragic, and only wants to be seen as the 'Strong Prince' he is. Out of everybody else, he is perceived as the most motivated. 

But don't let looks deceive you, everybody has something horrible to hide, a part that's nasty. A side that if left behind for too long, can come back stronger and eat away at your established personality without once damaging your outer shell. Not once, until your mind has had enough.

 


	2. Doodle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doodle takes dad's scissors to her skin  
> and when she does, relief comes setting in.  
> while she hides the scars she's making  
> underneath her pretty clothes  
> she sings:  
> Hey baby, can you bleed like me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Anxiety attacks, self-harm, suicidal thoughts, and self-depreciation

Another day, another exhausting morning.

 Light streamed through dark curtains patterned with spiders, the little rays of sunlight being the only bright object in the whole room. A heep of blankets surrounded Virgil, the faint hum of music bleeding out from the massive headphones on his head. 

As per usual, his brooding time is cut short when Patton opens up the door, "Good morning! Breakfast is ready!!" exclaimed louder than Virgil would like. Though expected sooner or later, his shoulders still tense and ease back into the mattress, overcome by a weight deep inside his chest. It takes all of his willpower to push out of bed and slip on his hoodie. He'll recognize the warmth and bagginess, along with that light sting of soft fabric ruined by the wash grazing against newly-closed wounds.

Down the stairs, take a left, slump into the end-seat and draw his legs to his chest as a plate of eggs and toast are placed in front of him. The smell of coffee indicates that Logan was here earlier, and Roman has added coffee to his morning helping of milk and sugar. Patton politely sits down with a glass of juice and begins to talk about his plans for today.

Virgil, as usual, tunes out every sound in the morning. His breakfast time is quiet, only his raging thoughts swirling in his mind faster than he can comprehend them. Last steps of breakfast rountine: shovel the food into mouth, place dish in sink, thank Patton, take a right, up the stairs, back in bed.

His friends knew he gets bad days (Patton calls them 'Gone days', Roman calls them shit days) and usually leave him to hide under the covers and listen to his music.

This, however, isn't just a bad day in his recovery.

Mental notes flood Virgil's mind, the newest making it's daily heading:

_Bad Day Streak: Day 45._

This is a relapse.

* * *

 Eventually, he brought his meals to his room and ate there, the mere thought of having other people -even his own friends- see him in such a bad state got too overwhelming. 

This was too familiar, everything had happened before. He was in college when he stopped attending classes, when he spent days locked in his dorm, when Roman found him collapsed on the bathroom floor with a puddle of vomit next to his barely-conscious body, when he worked for recovery and stayed in a hospital for two months.

Yet, he still felt as if none of that mattered. Everything from his recovery, everything from the therapy, everything was mentally crossed out with sharpie and replaced with those same thoughts. No, harsher. The old ones were nothing compared to the old.

 ~~ _You're never going to be successful after college._~~ _You've only proven to the others that you're **useless** now, you're wasting space._  
_~~Where will knowledge get you if nobody cares about you enough to listen?~~ Working for a degree just to sit on your ass and use your friends for shelter, fucking  **pathetic.** ~~~~_  
_~~Your future will be empty, those are just classmates.~~ You're holding them back, they only **pity** you cause you tried to kill yourself._  
_~~End it all and stop your own misery, nothing matters.~~ Lock the door, don't make noise. They'll assume you're off wallowing in your own **gross** sorrow, imagine how relieved they'll be when you stop showing your face-_

A light knock jolted Virgil out of his head, a startled noise involuntarily leaving his lips.  _What are you, a fucking child?_ His entire body went stiff, then ducked under the covers when he heard the doorknob turn. Whoever was wanting to talk to him would see he was asleep and leave him alone, then maybe he can tune in on that last thought for a moment.

The covers were ripped off of his body and Virgil instantly curled in on himself. "Dude, it's four in the afternoon. Wake up, we're gonna do some self care and clean up that nasty mood you've been in." Confident and stern, Roman scooped up Virgil and carried him downstairs.

Wide eyes showed through oily purple bangs, shifting in the red-head's arms to get his sleeves over his hands and his head as far away from Roman's chest as possible. "What the fuck? No, No no nope, put me down asshole-" With a startled squeak, Virgil was dumped unceremoniously onto the couch.  _Again? You need to pull yourself together and stop being embarrassing._ His eyebrows furrowed as his face flushed at that thought. 

Spewed across the coffee table were towels, snacks, drinks, face masks, soaps of many kinds, and the remote for the TV, with Netflix already open. Blankets and pillows were on the other side of the couch, and Roman was staring down at him with determination.

"What-" 

"Self-care. First, you're gonna take a shower." A towel, lavender-scented face and body wash, a loofah, and lavender shampoo and conditioner were shoved into his arms. "I already took one, so take your time cause nobody is gonna stop you from cleaning yourself up. I'll get you new some pajama's cause you've worn that for the past 2 weeks now-"

"I never agreed to th-"

"Quiet, You need to take care of yourself and I'm gonna rip my hair out if I have to smell you from the other room." At that, Virgil raised his arm and sniffed his armpit, then recoiled and sunk in defeat at the realization he was completely disgusting for the 3rd time today, with the added evidence of body odor. Roman raised an eyebrow and put his hands on his hips.

With a hefty sigh, Virgil gathered the items and began to walk to one of the shared bathrooms. "Don't expect me to use the loofah, princey."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Virgil wasn't prepared for his reflection.

He never took off his makeup from, what, a month ago? He can't remember, but it was smudged all over his cheeks. His hair was stringy, he could feel the oil as he ran his fingers through.  _It's no wonder it took them this long to get you clean, you look awful._  His eyes were dull as ever, deep brown eyes worn by exhaustion.  _Then sleep forever._

It only got worse as he had to undress for the shower, cause from head to toe he was littered with cuts and scars.  _You deserve each one, might as well suffer for how little you bring to this world._  Well, not his head but his arms, stomach, thighs, shoulders, you name it. _Dipshit, just shut you mouth and stop talking about it._ Skin pale from dehydration and improper nutrition (he ate, but he ate the wrong things), teeth yellow from improper hygiene, etc. etc., he was revolting.  _Hell yeah, you are. Everyone knows it already, about time you realized._

Hot water rained down over all those imperfections, and he watched as dried blood, dirt, oils, and make-up swirled down the drain.  _If only you could clean up your mistakes that easily_ _._ Wash your face, brush your teeth, wash every single part of yourself. Ignore those thoughts, damn it, you're supposed to take care of yourself today.

 _Unlovable piece of-_ Shut the fuck up. 

Roman said to take his time, but Virgil couldn't help leaving after the basics were over. He couldn't sing like Roman could, enjoy the hot water like Patton could, or clear his mind and relax until the water ran cold like Logan could. He only was lost with that ugly conscience of his, but this time it was louder.

Wrapping the black towel around his shoulders and shuffling off to his room, Virgil quickly changed into the new clothes on his bed. A loose Nirvana t-shirt, blank and white checkered sweat pants, and clean boxers. He sped over to the bathroom to grab his signature hoodie, black and purple with littered stitches, and threw that on with everything else.

After he sauntered down the stairs with his bangs clinging to his forehead, the sight of the living room caught him off guard. Each end of the couch had two chairs stacked with a blanket draped over them. The entire couch had become a blanket fort, fit with pillows, stuffed animals, and quilts inside. One wall, the front one, had been left open to keep the TV in sight. 

A gasp from behind him brought Virgil back into reality with a small jump.  _Well at least you didn't squeak._ "Oh you're squeaky clean now!!" The slightly chubby father figure then engulfed the smaller boy, and Virgil couldn't resist smiling at how relieved Patton looked. The smile prominent on his face only grew as he saw the same get-up Virge. was gawking at. "Romaaaaaaaaaaaan!!!" He squealed, launching himself into the fort and cuddling every single stuffed animal there.

Auburn curls bounced with each step as the mentioned person entered, turning to look at his room-mate and giving a content sigh, shooting Virgil a smile. "See? Five minutes of your day doing the basics and you already look better."

A shocked gasp came the fort. "Roman, how dare you say such a thing? My son always looks perfect!"

"He looked like shit, Patton."

Cue a disappointed father glare.

"...Would you rather me say he looked like Oscar the Grouch?"

The two continued to aggressively debate how Virgil looked before the shower, and the emo decided to calmly set Roman's essentials down on the coffee table and slowly inch his way back upstairs. When Virgil took the first step up, Roman scoffed at Patton and turned back to the escapist. "Nope, come back here, gremlin."  _Well, you should've been quicker. Convince them you're fine so you can go back to bed._

"Honestly, I don't see why this was necessary. I'm fine, its just been one of those days, you know?" He gripped the inside of his sleeves after letting them fall over his hands. "I think I just want to be alone." Shoulders raised and head bowed in semi-embarrassment from being paid attention to like this, all he could do was continue to ease his way up the stairs.

With a frustrated sigh, Roman walked towards Virgil, slung him over his shoulder, and carried him back to the couch. Both of them sported a stubborn look, and Patton's smile fell as the tension in the air rose. "Well, I love you two, kiddos, But I think I better go back to getting some work done before dinner.." Trailing off, Patton awkwardly shuffled out of the room, leaving them alone. 

He couldn't keep eye contact, those blue eyes staring down at him only made Virgil want to lock himself in his room forever.  _Don't let him stop you this time. He only feels pity, you're a failure that just can't just hurt yourself without bringing others into the equation. Leave, Leave, Leave, LEA-_

"Virgil, look at me." His breathing was erratic, fuck, he can't breathe. _Calm down, you need to calm down or else you'll draw attention to yourself, 478 Virgil, 478._ He couldn't, the tension in the air blocked his airway, nothing's coming in. His fingers are twitching with imaginary numbers, curling into fists at each failed attempt to breathe.

He can't breathe until his entire frame is wrapped in a hug, fingers in his hair and massaging his scalp. The familiar scent of perfume is almost overpowering, but the body heat makes everything better, I suppose.

Once Virgil is fully deflated in Roman's arms, able to get in some of that good oxygen, Roman releases and looks into his eyes with a softness that resembles concern. 

 Only when air can finally pass through, and when the tense boy finally deflates in the actor's arms, is when they separate. Soft eyes tinted with concern finally connect with ashamed hazel, and this time, Virgil can't look away.

"Please, don't ever lie to me."

_Convince him more, You're fine and he can't stop-_

"I know this isn't a bad day, You've been cooped up in your room. It's gotten to that point again, huh?"

_What the fuck are you doing? Say something, tell him you're fine, tell him otherwise or else you'll have to try harder to feel the pure bliss of disappearance!_

"We can't lose you, I can't see you that way ever again." By this point, tears had been summoned. "You're family, please know that we love you."

_Look what you've done, you're hurting those you love. End it and they'll only briefly miss you and then you never have to witness that hurt ever again._

"I-I-" Stuttering is summoned, along with misty eyes and a lump in your throat that warns you of tears but none fall. "I'm so sorry, I, I didn't want you to, to hurt, I just, I just-"

There's a brief moment of silence, where the expected hangs in the air but neither want to acknowledge it.

"I just, I just can't find, no, I just don't want to live. I-I feel empty all over again and now all that time spent in recovery mean nothing now that I've gone and fucked it all up. I-i fucked it up, Roman! I failed you, I failed myself, I failed everyone because of my own conscience not finding a purpose to live. No, that sucks, I can't fight myself anymore. I wanted help last time, but I couldn't say it out loud and I suffered but, but this time recovery looks too far. I, I think I've reached an end."

The contrast of pure sadness is strange, where they both feel this deep aching but express in different way. One is racked with sobs and tears face red and this urge to help and cling to the nearest person. The other is emotionless on the outside, visibly deflated and aching inside.

In one person's eyes, there is room for feeling better. In the other, everything looks like an impossible fight.

* * *

When Patton calls for dinner, tears are dry and all puffy eyes have returned to their normal shape. The ending credits of  _Tangled_ play on the TV, and Roman is holding Virgil with a protective expression painted on his face.

The sight gives Patton an idea, further improved by a glance at the calendar. 

********

Family dinners were proposed and are now encouraged, both in one day. Virgil and Roman arrive first since being in the other room, and Logan is stopped on his way back to his room.

"Logan, we're gonna eat as family! Fridays are for family bonding, I think we all need to communicate more or have more chances to communicate!" He grins, guiding Logan back to the table. His face is painted with confusion and that one Look™ that he makes when he's solving something. Basically, his mind is calculating everything really quickly.

Once they all sit down, Patton begins to talk about his day with enthusiasm, bringing a small smile to Virgil's face. Throughout his meal, that annoying little conscience that hurt him quiets. Roman talks about work and his little self-care day with Panic at the Everywhere, and Logan (surprisingly) partakes in the conversation quite frequently. He'll talk about his novel he's writing, meta in his favorite TV shows, or give random facts on anything and everything.

His onslaught of words convinces everyone he is okay, but this isn't his chapter, this is Virgil's. Said boy was making deprecating jokes here and there, also pointing out darker meaning in Logan's meta and how the unknown is linked to literally everything. He hadn't eaten with any of them or had a really conversation for about two months now, and once Logan leaves to 'clean his plate' (ok author stop this isn't his chapter), Virgil honestly is sad that this dinner couldn't have lasted longer.

Virgil and Roman could only watch more movies, from Disney to cryptic documentaries, they spent hours under their little fort trying to be happy to the best of their ability. During these movies, Roman would do a face mask and keep trying to get Virgil to one too (he never did), or paint his nails and eventually get Virgil to get his bitten nails painted black.

 The clock read around 1:30am, and Roman suddenly kicked off his blankets and sighed dramatically. "Good lord, did Logan turn off the air conditioning again? It's too  _hoooooooot!"_   He whined, taking off his jacket and leaving the room.

After a couple of minutes, Roman returned in loose shorts and a t-shirt instead of his previous Mickey-Mouse onesie and climbed back into the fort. "How are you not hot in that jacket, its a bajillion degrees right now." 

In all honesty, Virgil was  _baking_ underneath his hoodie. Around this time, he would be scrolling through Tumblr, watching vines or theories, or listening to his emo playlist while tearing apart his skin and letting his blood creep out along with all his tension and bad thoughts. His hoodie was never on when he was alone in his room, therefore if tonight was a regular night, Virgil had no worries. Tonight, however, was  _not_ his usual depression and anxiety-induced insomnia.

Roman-induced insomnia was probably worse, considering his only options were let Roman know he fell back into his habit of cutting or suffer under the illusion that Virgil was, in fact, cold. 

"Nah, not really." Option two: engaged. 

A few doubtful and playful 'I am personally offended by how we are not equally suffering' looks were given in response, but at that Roman continued to whine. Their current movie, Coraline, was reaching it's ending credits as Virgil decided he didn't feel like sweating anymore. 

With a fake yawn and a short stretch with his arms in the air, Virgil then climbed out of their fort and looked over at Roman. "As much as I enjoy wasting time doing meaningless shit like this, I'm going to fall into a depression coma now. See ya-" Trailing off, the standing man furrowed his eyebrows at his eccentric room mate. His look was unsettling, crossed arms and eyes studying him with such intense judgement in his eyes.

Raising an eyebrow at said look, Virgil turned towards the stairs and hurried up to his little lair. Once inside, his hoodie and pants were instantly removed and the small bit of air coming into his room hit his skin with such a satisfying breeze. He would usually take a moment to internally shame himself for making his arms and thighs look so intensely damaged, but today he actually laid in his bed with his blankets to get as much cold as possible.

Such comfort and internal exhaust present only seemed to intensify, letting Virgil actually sleep. 

_Why would you let your guard down though? Why are so comfortable, what did you forget to do???_

His sleeves were baggier than he thought, and it was quite the stupid decision to damage your wrists too.

 


	3. Speedie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Therapy is Speedie's brand new drug  
> Dealing with the devil's past has never been too fun  
> It's better off than trying to take a bullet from a gun  
> and she cries:  
> Hey baby, can you bleed like me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: depictions of child abuse (emotional and physical), bullying, therapy sessions, and foster families.
> 
> Italics represent flashbacks, bits of memories and such.

Each wonderful morning begins with the smell of coffee and fairy lights above your head, slipping out of your pajamas and into today's clothes then going to make breakfast for all of your roommates. Today was Thursday, which meant he'd spend the morning in counselling and go into work late. Patton always looked forward to his therapy day, he loved to talk about his feelings but also loved when someone knew how to help him out.

Omelettes with tomatoes and onions inside, along with garlic sprinkled on the top, was today's breakfast. Logan is always gone during breakfast, so he'll wrap the nerd's breakfast in tinfoil and place it in the fridge with a bold "For Logan :)!" written on a sticky note attached. Logan usually eats it while Patton is at work, the wrapped breakfast gone once he gets home. 

Roman will saunter down the stairs in sweat-pants and a thick sweater, all sleep gone from his eyes as he sits at the table and eagerly digs into his breakfast after thanking the father-figure. He loved being called a dad, taking care of others made him feel loved, too. 

Feeling loved is such an amazing feeling.

...

The building looked huge on the outside, but the blonde couldn't help but feel cramped in the small waiting room. Parents had their children running about and whining over being bored, receptionists checked patients in and out, and soon the therapist will come call out a name for their 30-minute session. The noise never bothered him, the smell of vitamins in the air was slightly uncomfortable but it didn't ruin his day, and the wait never made him angry. 

Once his name is called and the sounds of the waiting room have dissolved into clacking keyboard keys and pen scrawls, Patton could finally let his smile sink into a neutral expression. Emotions were allowed here, he can't worry his family in a quiet room. He'll relax into the familiar chair stiff with age and mentally prepare himself for probing questions. Dr. Picani will sit across from him with his file both on paper and up on his computer, then it'll begin.

"Good morning, Doc. It's a bit chilly outside today, don't you think?" A friendly greeting and a friendly smile. They're real, and Patton is certainly glad he doesn't need to fake them.

_Everyone around him was either annoyed or grateful of such excessive optimism Patton radiated, his smile brightened a room but some got blinded. Some days were filled with a little less sunshine, the bruises on his back aching or a busted lip screaming in protest at grinning so much._

The questions will start simple: Mood today, how much he's been eating, how much sleep he's been getting, the usual. Then the question about his past week will breed new questions depending on the answers he provides.

"Well, I'm scared that Virgil is getting depressed again. He hasn't been leaving his room for quality family time that often, and when Roman prepared a self-care day, he kept trying to hide his emotions again. He didn't seem very upset when I cooked a family dinner for all of us last Friday, but he still barely leaves his room." Concern etched onto his face, Patton thought about Virgil. How this had happened before and he didn't notice, and how loud Roman shrieked when he was collapsed on the dorm bathroom floor.

_There were, of course, also those kids who looks for advice from him. Kids who had depression, anxiety, or just needed a little bit of help figuring themselves out. Patton knew the feeling of being lost or unwanted, filled to the brim with sadness. He put on that mask and offered coping mechanisms that were healthy, offered breathing techniques and advice. He never followed his own words, the mask of a happy soul was all he needed._

"It sounds like you worry about him a lot. Does he ever cook as well?"

"Oh, no, its only me! I enjoy cleaning and cooking so I just tackle it all! I tend to be seen as the dad of the household because of it." He laughed at the end of his sentence.  _He always kept his room clean, always cooked his own meals, cleaned without asking to avoid being criticized._

"Do you think you take care of everyone around you because you weren't taken care of when you were younger?"

 For a split second, Patton's smile fell off his face. Immediately, he plastered on another one, forced and tense. "No, I just like people being happy."

"Do you not want to be like your parents?"

"Are you afraid of the others feeling neglected like you were?"

**"Do you take care of other people to cope with your past?"**

Soon therapy was over and Patton was eager to leave this time. Each question was shot down, Patton didn't want to think about the real answers to those questions. Unfortunately he couldn't stop thinking about it. Each answer stems another question, it's a slippery slope that will leave Patton remembering everything.

Once he arrived at work, autopilot took over and he didn't smile while walking through the doors, didn't greet his coworkers, didn't make eye contact as he slipped on his apron. Though, being in an environment where attention grants efficience, Patton was soon pulled out of his own head.

 ***

_Leaves fell onto cracked pavement, small sneakers crushing them as their inhabitant walked up to the school doors. His smile was gone, replaced with a limp and stitches in his forehead, hidden by those dirty blonde curls. Friends asked him if he was okay, and he forced a small grin to not bust open his cracked lip._

_Teachers kept asking what happened, and Patton shrugged it off as nothing. "I was climbing that big tree at the park, and I fell," he would say. The counselor asked if he had been hurt at home. Patton gave the same stort and forced an even bigger smile at his own expense. Blood dotted at the tear in his lip._

_There was no concern at home. There was nothing except his distraught mother, angry father, and crying siblings. As the oldest, Patton tended to take the blame for troubles the younger kiddos had caused. As long as his brother and sister didn't get as beaten up as him, everything was okay._

_He doesn't remember when the discipline became a habit. When he'd get smacked on sight, when bottles were thrown and his dad didn't seem like a human being anymore. When words pelted furiously at his self-esteem and he couldn't trust people. When his own privacy was terminated._

_Those nights were a chorus of violence and repressed memories flooding back, coating his mind in sap as Patton lets himself soak. His heart was sticky-sweet and glazed over that he never realized the rope around his neck until screaming filled the school bathroom._

_That rope bruised, the thick material leaving marks then could only remind Patton of large handprints._

3:47am, and the dad awoke with a start. Sweat left him uncomfortably slick and the phantom hold on his throat was unbearable. Instantly, he undressed and stepped into the shower, not waiting for the water to warm up as he sat under the steady stream. 

He hasn't felt that pain in a long while, why is it back now?

**Author's Note:**

> fuck you I gave Logan the last name Sanders cause I couldn't think of a last name that fit, sue me


End file.
